Smile
by fleeterberry
Summary: John finds himself with nothing to do on Christmas Eve. One-shot Carter/Reese


Smile  
Fleeterberry  
Spoilers: I stopped watching after Ladies' Night, so anything prior to that is fair game.  
Disclaimer: I wouldn't even want to claim responsibility for THAT disaster!

#####

He'd always been a sucker for Christmas. The whole season - the music, the bells, the excited kids, the whole idea of good will towards men. Hell, he'd seen enough of the flip side that he thought it was only fair he could fool himself into thinking something better happened once a year. And rather than resent the happiness he saw, there was a little tiny part of him that wanted to believe someday he'd have a home and a family and be able to share in the festivities that were going on all around him and not have to hide the smile that continually threatened to form once Christmas carols started playing on the radio in November.

The problem was he was surrounded by a bunch of miserable scrooges. He'd brought a dozen red and green donuts to the library where Finch gagged and promptly tossed them in the trash. His glare was so stern that Bear didn't even try to fish them out. He'd hummed under his breath for a moment and earned a death glare from Shaw. He'd tried holding the door for a woman burdened with a screaming baby and an armful of packages and received only a declaration that he was a chauvinist pig.

He didn't even bother trying with Carter. He knew she was having a rough time since Taylor was spending Christmas with his father, leaving her alone for the holiday for the first time in a very long time.

And so on Christmas Eve, after Finch had announced there were no numbers and nothing for him to do, John spent the evening walking the streets, watching the last minute shoppers scurry around, glancing at the sky and wondering on the odds of a white Christmas, no matter how unlikely, and pretending he had someone to go home to when he finally decided to call it a night.

He was wistfully staring at a store window, watching the train make its way around the base of the tree, wondering if it really was too late to even pretend he'd someday have a child he could amaze by setting up such a train, when his phone rang. He was loathe to answer, dreading having to return to work and deal with people who were still determined to commit murder despite the season. But when he checked the number, he recognized Carter's house line and he felt his heart skip a beat in happiness.

"Merry Christmas, Carter."

"It's not Christmas until midnight." There was a metallic clang followed by a soft curse.

"Everything ok?" Regardless of the season, if Carter needed him, he'd be there and he wouldn't resent it for a second.

"Yeah, just trying to make some cookies for Taylor and suddenly recalling why I always buy them." This time there was a yelp and then a string of curses. "First I forgot the eggs, now I forgot the pot holder."

Spying a small bakery across the street, he felt his heartbeat quicken at the idea of possibly seeing her, the somebody he wouldn't mind heading home to every night, especially Christmas Eve. "Need an emergency cookie delivery?"

"Nah, I'm good, but, uh," her voice changed ever so slightly, tinged with an almost imperceptible uncertainty except John knew her, her face, her body, her voice, and he always knew when something was going on. "If you're not - or I mean you might be busy - so it's ok if you don't want to,"

"Don't want to what, Carter?" His whole body tensed, picking up on her anxiety, fearing what could cause the unflappable Detective Carter to be stuttering nonsensically into the phone.

"I thought maybe you could come over and help with the cookies or something."

The moment of panic eased, the knot of nerves in his belly tightening into an entirely different kind of feeling. He couldn't help the smirk that he truly wished she could see, lowering his voice to a low rumble as he answered. "What sort of something did you have in mind?" Normally, he was a smart ass, always ready with an obnoxious quip, but with Carter, always with Carter, it was an innuendo. He couldn't help it. And he really didn't want to.

Luckily, she never seemed to mind. Her laughter, buried under a groan, carried through the phone. He could practically see her roll her eyes. "Never mind, John, it was a bad idea."

Not about to lose the one chance he was being given to not spend the night alone, he spoke up before she had a chance to disconnect. "I'll be there in ten."

#####

Sucking on the index finger she'd burned, Jos leaned against her counter and squeezed her eyes closed. What the fuck had gotten into her? Her accusing glance fell first on the phone through which she'd made an utter fool of herself, and then on the small TV that sat in the corner of the kitchen counter, currently turned to some sappy Christmas movie. Certainly it was to blame. She'd had a phone for years. She'd known John for years. She'd never once made a fool out of herself in front of the man.

The television had been a surprise gift for Taylor from Paul, who didn't know Taylor had a bigger, nicer one in his bedroom. Thus the unwanted gift, that Taylor refused to return for fear of hurting his father's feelings, had been shoved on the already overfull counter in the kitchen. Jos had thought it would be nice to catch the news while she was making dinner or get the weather when she was packing Taylor's lunch. Now that it, and its sentimental holiday programming, had been responsible for turning her into a babbling idiot, she was tempted to throw it in the trash.

The movie switched to a commercial and Jos' eyes immediately went back to her phone. Perhaps the TV wasn't solely to blame. The phone had brought Finch's message, after all, the message which had replayed over and over in her mind until she'd given in and called John with an impromptu and poorly executed invitation.

Yes, it was actually all Finch's fault. Good. That meant she could keep the TV.

If there was one thing she knew about John, it was that he was absolutely true to his word. He'd said ten minutes and therefore, she sighed as she looked down at the ratty sweatpants she'd repeatedly wiped her hands on, she wouldn't have time to change. She hated the idea of looking like a hot mess, but she'd be mortified if he caught her changing her clothes for him. Might as well suck it up, she decided. Besides, he wasn't coming over because he was interested in her, he was being nice because he knew she was alone. It wouldn't due to make him regret the favor.

She turned back to the mixing bowl and grabbed a handful of dough, shrugging to herself about having not washed her hands since she'd had her fingers in her mouth. Less than sanitary, but she didn't have any germs, Taylor still believed in the five-second rule, and, truth be told, she was likely to be the only one actually eating any cookies that didn't wind up in the garbage so she didn't think it made any difference. She flattened the dough on the counter and started rolling it out.

The knock threw her. She turned toward the sound, her forehead furrowed as she tried to decide if it could possibly be someone else at her door at eight on Christmas Eve. Peeking around the edge with the chain still fastened, she found someone she hardly recognized. It was John, those piercing blue eyes that could read her mind could only belong to him, but the jeans and leather jacket were something she hadn't expected. He was "The Man in the Suit" after all; she hadn't imagined he owned anything else, let alone actually put in on. Hell, she'd have thought he slept in the suit.

His eyes moved from hers to the chain lock and then back to hers. "You really think that's going to keep me out?"

Shaking her head and trying not to imagine casual John kicking through her locked door to save her from some horror. Suddenly find it necessary to duck in an effort to hide the flush in her cheeks, she closed the door far enough to slide off the lock before allowing the door to swing open. "I didn't realize you knocked. Don't you normally let yourself in?"

He smirked as he shrugged his jacket off, a close fitting navy blue tee-shirt seeming to make his eyes glow. "Only when I'm in a hurry." Waiting for her to meet his eye again, he winked. "Or when I haven't been invited."

"Finch gave you the night off?" She led the way to the kitchen. "I imagine he gives some decent Christmas presents." Her mind was readily imagining houses and Aston Martins and trips around the world.

John immediately moved to the sink to wash his hands. "Finch is a scrooge, but mercifully no one is plotting a murder tonight."

Jos thought back to Finch's words, his voice high and rushed as he'd explained that he was really busy but that John needed a break and how upset he tended to get during the holidays. Though Jos couldn't see a difference, she recognized that he was an expert at hiding his feelings. She'd already felt the sharp pangs of loneliness, even though it was the first Christmas Eve she'd spent alone in her entire life. She didn't want to admit it, but she hadn't been at all reluctant to invite her friend over. Next to her son, there was no one she'd rather spend time with, especially since they weren't working.

John was studying the magazine page she'd been using as her recipe, his face serious, his attention as absorbed with the flour covered page as it would have been with a criminal's activities. The man certainly threw himself into whatever he was doing. It took him only a moment to spot the first of several issues she was having with her cooking.

"Carter?"

"Are you trying to make these cookies?" He indicated the giant chocolate chip cookies in the picture, huge, half melted pieces of chocolate oozing between the halves.

She nodded.

"Where are the chocolate chips?"

"I forgot them."

"And the butter?" He looked worried, as though he questioned the idea of ever leaving her in a room with an oven again.

"I forgot to put the butter in the bowl," she motioned at the garbage can, "but I put it in the second time. The chocolate…" shrugging, she felt herself starting to smile at his now amused expression, "I forgot to buy it."

"And the pot holder?" He nodded at the charred remains of cookies she'd scraped off the cookie sheet. "Forget to buy that too?"

"I was watching a movie. I got distracted."

John's eyes slowly turned toward the TV, taking a moment to size up the cheesy movie, before turning back to the recipe without a comment. "Ok, so chocolate chip cookies without chocolate."

Feeling as though he'd passed judgment on her, she snatched the recipe out of his hands. "I didn't say the movie was interesting. I said it distracted me." She set the paper to the side. "We're at the cookie cutter and oven stage."

He looked at the dough, then leaned past her to stare pointedly at the recipe. "It doesn't say anything about cookie cutters, Carter."

She sighed and decided to lay it out for him. "I'm not a baker, ok? But my son asked for some Christmas cookies, so I'm making him some Christmas cookies and chocolate chip cookies aren't Christmassy unless they're in Christmassy shapes, dammit. I'm making my son chocolate chip cookies without any fucking chocolate chips in Christmassy shapes and if you don't like it, you can leave."

Jos watched as John fight admirably to keep the smile off his face. Finally he nodded, holding out his hand. "Cookie cutter?"

Taking a deep breath and trying to prepare herself for John's reproach, having only just discovered his rather strong feelings regarding cookie recipes. "The store was pretty picked over by the time I got out of work tonight, so I don't even want to hear it, ok?" She swallowed hard and laid the bone-shaped piece of metal in John's outstretched hand.

He fought it. She had to give him credit for trying.

And she couldn't blame him for the laughter that finally escaped. In fact, she joined him, the two of them laughing at her ineptitude in the kitchen until tears ran down her face.

Finally she put her hands on her hips, trying to pretend that John's lingering grin didn't make her want to smile, and held out her hand. "These cookies aren't going to cut themselves."

"You've done enough damage, Carter, go back to your movie. I'll take care of this." He turned back to the counter, carefully setting the cookie cutter on the dough and pressing it down. A moment later, he lifted it up, the bone shaped dough lifting with the metal shape. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that supposed to happen?"

Shaking her head, she passed the half empty bag of flour to him. "Try this?"

John pried the first failed attempt out of the cutter, dusted the rim with flour, and tried a second time. This time, the perfectly pressed shape remained on the counter, ready for the dough to be peeled away around it. He looked pleased, repeating the steps and cutting several more bones out of the cookie dough.

Amused both that John Reese was willing to help her bake cookies and was obviously pleased with himself for his success, Jos turned back to the stupid movie, almost disappointed that the credits were starting to roll. No matter, she told herself, there were entire channels devoted to sap and she quickly found another movie that was just starting. She quickly got used to the inexplicably comfortable idea of John moving around the kitchen behind her.

#####

Staring at the misshapen cookie, John swallowed hard. He couldn't do it. He couldn't admit he'd messed up. Not after he'd laughed - shit, he'd actually laughed at her - about her failure with the cookies. There was a missing step between cutting out the shapes and moving said shapes to the cookie sheet without stretching them unrecognizably. What that step was, however, he had no idea. He thought about his phone, the one in his jacket pocket, the one he wondered if he could get to without arousing suspicion from the woman who was heckling the television characters like they could hear her.

But as he tried to decide his next step, his lack of movement gave him away.

He didn't hear a sound, but he felt her beside him. He knew the look would be there, the raised eyebrow, the pursed lips, the silent demand that he fold. With no way around it, he dropped the ruined cookie on the counter and glanced at her.

"Not so easy, is it?"

He wasn't good with failure, but at least she was more amused than disappointed. "Taylor probably won't mind if they're just regular cookies, will he?"

"No, Taylor won't care. He's a teenage boy, also known as a human garbage disposal." She crossed her arms over her chest, the position causing the v-neck of her shirt to bunch up, revealing more cleavage that she likely intended, thoroughly distracting John from her words. "I, however, will lose all respect for you."

It took a moment and all the strength he possessed to drag his mind away from that cleavage and thanked his lucky stars that she hadn't noticed where his attention had drifted. His uncharacteristic silence, and likely the guilty look he knew he had, clued her in that something was wrong. She moved forward, her forehead wrinkling in concern, unfolding her arms and resting one of her delicate hands on his arm.

"Jeez, John, I was joking. I don't really care and Taylor won't either."

Rather than the recovery he knew he ordinarily would have been capable of, he was mesmerized by her. By everything. By the fact that she called him a friend. By the fact that she'd invited him over. By the fact that she was comfortable enough to wear her pajamas when she let him into her home. By the fact that she was touching him, leaning in to catch his eyes, seeming as though it was perfectly normal for her to touch him.

After a long moment she stepped back. "Everything ok?"

He nodded, his mind beginning to work again. "Maybe there's a bakery open. Or a grocery store. Or Finch could probably hire a chef to bake some cookies for us." He needed to get out of there, to get a grip on himself, to put distance between them before he let his desire for more become a problem.

She laughed, shaking her head and grabbing the bowl of dough from the counter. "Relax, John, cookie dough tastes better than cookies anyway." She sat back down at the kitchen table, propped her feet up on a chair, and then turned back to him. "Hand me a spoon?"

Seeing no better options, he took two spoons out of the drawer she pointed at and took a seat beside her.

It should have been strange. It should have been uncomfortable. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. Physically, if for no other reason, because they were sitting on straight-backed wooden chairs, watching TV from three feet away that forced him to crane his head back to see the whole screen at once.

But it wasn't. Not in the slightest. After a few spoonfuls of raw cookie dough, which John had to admit was better than cookies, Carter retrieved two beers from the fridge and opened a bag of popcorn. Neither one had moved since then, except to have a sip or to swipe a finger through the dough - the idea of which John was fully prepared to have a stroke over when he was alone - as they sat transfixed by quite possibly the dumbest movie he'd ever seen. The heroine was, of course, a beautiful small town teacher who was leading the long-time residents of said small town in a campaign to rid their idyllic, if somewhat smothering, refuge of the big-city curmudgeon. Said curmudgeon, of course, was in his early thirties and obnoxiously attractive and, though he'd initially despised the teacher, he'd fallen in love with her at their second meeting. Carter's heckling had continued, something that amused John to no end.

She'd taken to throwing popcorn at the screen and groaning in between bouts of yelling at the teacher, but John didn't care. He didn't care about the movie or the fact that it was getting late or anything really, besides the undeniable tingle he felt when Carter dipped her finger into the cookie dough and proceeded to lick it off. Luckily she was far too wrapped up in the movie to notice that he was spending more time watching her than the screen.

The teacher was talking to her best friend, pondering if the curmudgeon could actually care about her.

Carter launched a whole handful of popcorn at the screen. "Of course he loves you! You're fucking beautiful and you know it."

Just because the statement amused him, he finally broke the silence he'd kept since he'd sat down. "Stephanie there doesn't actually seem to know she's pretty."

Carter's irritated glare turned on him. "Look at her! Women who are as beautiful as she is know they're beautiful, either from birth or adolescence at least."

He couldn't believe she was fishing for a compliment, certainly not with the way she legitimately seemed to care about the movie, but he figured it was Christmas and it might be a good gift to give her. "So did you know it from birth or did it take you until adolescence?"

Her attention had turned back to the movie that quickly, but she pulled her eyes away to meet his, confusion all over her face. "Know what?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. Had she been paying attention, she would have picked up on the obtuse compliment, blushed, and pretended it didn't floor her. Instead, she had no idea what he was talking about, leaving him with two options: backing out or telling her straight to her face. Never one to back down from a challenge, he held her eyes. "Women who are as beautiful as you are know they're beautiful. Did you know it from birth or did it take you a while to figure it out?"

She stared at him, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open.

In her silence, he remembered the way he'd stared stupidly at her when she'd touched him earlier and found himself nervously repeating her words back at her. "Everything ok?"

With a thud, her feet dropped off the chair and she sat up, shifting around the mixing bowl and the bag of popcorn and her beer. She was fidgeting and nervous and John felt guilty for wrecking the good time they'd been having.

He reached out, as she had before, stilling her arm with a soft touch before he took the bowl and bag from her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She was shaking her head, her gaze locked on the phone she'd abandoned on the counter. "I thought you were depressed, not horny." Her eyes narrowed and John was very, very glad she wasn't looking at him like that.

"I wasn't-" his denial halted almost as quickly as it had begun, her words clicking in his head. "What do you mean you thought I was depressed?"

She swallowed so hard he could hear it; her voice so soft he could barely hear it. "Finch told me you were." She looked down and he could see her shrinking back into herself. "Actually, I think he said prone to melancholy, but-"

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he felt like an ass. The invitation had been awkward and unexpected. He'd thought that meant she was nervous, but apparently, that hadn't been the case at all. Of course she wouldn't have wanted to spend Christmas Eve with him if she hadn't been asked to do so. He stood up, depositing his beer on the table, wishing he hadn't made a fool out of himself, glad that it hadn't been so much worse. "I'm not depressed, Carter. Thanks for the concern."

He was halfway to his jacket in the living room when she caught up to him. "Where are you going?"

"Home." Or he might find the closest bridge and jump off it because while he wasn't depressed, he was so mortified that he wasn't sure he'd survive.

"Why?" She looked genuinely confused and completely adorable and, much to his chagrin, thoroughly kissable.

"Like I said, thanks, but no thanks. Next time tell Finch to mind his own fucking business."

She blocked the door, trying to catch his eyes even while he deliberately avoided hers. "Ok, John, so you're not depressed and Finch is an ass," she shrugged, "does that mean you have to leave?"

"I'm not." He tried to step around her, but she wasn't about to give.

"Right, got it, you're not depressed." She put her hand on his chest, the warmth of her palm burning through his shirt. "But I am alone and I don't want you to go."

He had no choice but to meet her earnest stare, seeing nothing but honesty there. Still, he felt like he'd fallen for it too easily the first time. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me, Jos."

"I don't feel sorry for you." She motioned at her attire self-consciously. "I look like a slob, my son abandoned me, I can't cook to save my life, and I'm spending Christmas Eve arguing with a TV while having beer and raw cookie dough. I'm pathetic. I feel sorry for me, John."

"You're not pathetic, Carter, you're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen." He'd only meant to reassure her that she wasn't pathetic, but somehow the truth, the one he'd kept carefully concealed for the entire time he'd known her, had fallen out.

Her arms folded over her chest again, revealing the same cleavage they had the first time. "So suddenly I'm beautiful and sexy? Are you sure you're not horny?"

This time, rather than pretend, he pointedly let his eyes drift to her chest, eventually dragging them back to her face. "It's actually not sudden at all and no, not at all."

She squeezed her eyes closed in embarrassment as her arms dropped back to her sides. She waited a long, quiet moment before she looked back at him. "Are we done fighting now?"

"We weren't fighting." He nodded toward the kitchen, expecting Carter would happily retake her spot in front of the stupid movie.

"Yes we were." She shook her head, turning instead toward the sofa and reaching for the remote.

As he settled beside her, closer than he might have dared any other night, he grinned. "Neither of us is bleeding. We weren't fighting."

"I say we were." With the movie once again before them, she settled back, leaning against him until he had no choice but to move his arm around her shoulders.

"And I say we weren't." His hand slid down of its own accord, finding her hips and pulling her fully against his side.

She twisted around, a wide smile on her lips. "Even if we weren't then, we are now."

He was distracted by her mouth, especially its proximity and the fact that he couldn't quite convince himself any longer that tasting it would be at all unwelcome. When he finally managed to look up again, he saw the same desire written on her face that he knew was on his. "In that case, can we keep fighting?"

She laughed and then rolled her eyes. "Maybe after the movie." She shifted back around to watch it once more. "I want to see how it ends."

He dropped his head back against the couch. "They fall in love and live happily ever after."

"I hope so. Now shush."

Testing his luck, he moved his mouth close to her ear. "Never took you for a hopeless romantic, Carter."

"Like you're one to talk." As a commercial started, she snuggled in closer, tucking her arm around his waist. "And if you ever tell anyone about my romantic streak, I'll tell them you willingly sat here with me all night and watched this crap too."

He wasn't even quite sure what he was doing when he reached for her chin, carefully sliding his fingers along her jaw and tilting her face up toward his. "Can we go back to fighting now?"

She shifted in a flash, closing the distance between them, pressing her lips tightly to his. He couldn't believe his luck, especially the way his night had turned out exactly the way he hadn't dared to hope it might.

And in the wee hours, when a naked, sated Jos curled into his arms and complained they'd missed the end of the movie, John just smiled. There was no reason to hide it anymore.


End file.
